A Country Gal in the City

CHAPTER SEGMENTS

Collision of Cultures

The Gifts

The Headlights Shone at Midnight

SHORT STOPS

A-Lure

The Escarpment

Thoughts on Inspiration

Venting

The Rebel

The Swimming Hole

Prairie Afternoon

By the Lake

Quilting

The Race

REMEMBER ME

Poetry

This poem is for those who feel the pull between living in the country and living in the city, and then realize there is beauty in both.

A Country Gal in the City

Wine glass in hand I am dressed up real fancy

Chatting to folks I just met

I wonder if they guess, but that might be chancy

That I’m a country gal under my dress

My visit is friendly and interestingly

About subjects that make idle chat

But under my guise where no one can see

My heart yearns to be out on horseback

To roam over fields and through coulees deep

Where wild things are safe and protected

I glimpse them but their secrets I keep

We belong to this land- we’re connected

Laughter erupts and breaks through my dream

I smile and join celebration

Just wait till tomorrow when I fish in the stream

My heart leaps with anticipation

Tomorrow I’ll look at my long painted nails

And see that the polish is hurt

By the edge of my metal calf feeding pail

And a ton of good country dirt

A woman approaches and begins conversation

On me does she feel some sort of pity

I discover by change to my great elation

Another country gal here in the city

We chat for a while about barley and sage

And how we came to be in the big city

For chances to work and to earn a good wage

So we can stay joined to the country

We agreed that we had to decide

That we needed both places to live

The city a living it grandly provides

Heart’s desire the country does give

Oh the city is fine with its parks and restaurants

And there’s always a movie to see

Lots of bars’ bistros and other fun haunts

That makes fun times for you and for me

The country is huge with land measured by miles

On which seeders and combines are used

The work days are long and peppered with smiles

To this life country folks are oft fused

So later at home I stripped off my skirt

And jumped into bed for some dreaming

Of fresh air and cattle and good old hard work

That fills me with so much good meaning

So there are times when I curl my long tresses

And go out dressed up real pretty

But never forget under makeup and dresses

I’m a country gal here in the city!

My dear father, Ty Smith, passed away on November 27, 2010. My folks were both born and raised in the Maritimes, transferring west after the Alberta oil rush in the late ‘40s. After living in many places in the Prairie Provinces, my folks retired to Canmore, Alberta. For 32 years they lived and played there; skiing, hiking, biking, running sled dogs, and riding their horses. One evening after Dad’s funeral, I sat down to draft a thank you note for the newspaper and instead, this poem arrived. It’s my father telling my mother, Mary, that he will come for her one day and they will live and play together again. In sharing this, it is my hope that those of you who have lost a loved one will be comforted by knowing that they go on, they watch over us, and they will come for us when it is our time. God Bless you.

And So My Dear Remember Me

As long as love exists in you

My life will ever go on past

Life’s pain and sorrow I’ve been through

To where I’m home and safe at last

We skied the slopes, white, pure and clean

And stood to watch the eagles soar

Hiking trails – the sights we’ve seen

That touched our hearts straight to the core

From our birthplace in the east

Of this our great and gorgeous land

To life in Canmore soft and sweet

How fine was our life for this man

Go on my dear on till the time

That you hear me call your name

Together we’ll take that final climb

And we’ll be home again

Till then know that my old heart

Soars over you proud and free

We’re really not that far apart

My love, it’s always you and me

And So My Dear Remember Me

I was sitting in a deck chair in Mexico as a small gecko curiously investigated me, wanting to run up a nearby tree. He tried many different ways to get to his goal as he wheeled and turned on his hind legs – just like a tiny dinosaur.

Eventually, he plucked up enough courage to make a run for it. I swear he winked as he ran past.

Gecko

Little tiny fingers

Little tiny toes

Quick as lightening

There he goes!

I turned my head to see his length

Jet past my chair with all his strength

Running on his back legs like a tiny T-Rex

Down the slippery sidewalk and between the decks

He gave me a glance from the side of his eye

Seeming to say a very quick good-bye

I smiled at him despite feeling rather odd

Did I perceive from him a little tiny nod?

He dropped to all fours and ran up the tree

A hundred miles an hour from what did he flee?

I guess it was me, the big thing in the chair

With the sunburned arms and the wild summer hair!

Little tiny fingers

Little tiny toes

Nature’s tiny gymnast

Gave me quite a show!

After a long day of canning, this poem wrote itself! It’s possible that breathing vinegar and spice fumes was influential...

Pickles

Oh yum, yum how I love to eat

Home canned pickles so tart and so sweet

Onions and sugar and spices galore

Make taste buds zingy and shouting for more

Deep in the garden hidden by leaves

Cucumbers reside awaiting to be

All kinds of treats packed tightly in jars

Seasoned just right, small, green super stars

Dill pickles, small and flavoured with salt

Garlic and peppers and vinegar malt

Set on the shelves till they’re ready to eat

I can’t wait to devour these savoury treats

Mustard ones laced with spices and sweets

Often I use big rosy beets

To make bright red morsels to tickle the palate

I’d vote for these winners if I had a ballot

Cucumbers, corn, and broccoli, too

Cauliflower, onions and dill that I strew

In sealers shiny and ready to cradle

All nature’s treasures that I lovingly ladle

Tighten the tops and set them to cool

Survey the bounty from my canning stool

Odours that tease the nostrils and eyes

Winter will yield my work day’s surprise

At the end of the day when my eyes cry big tears

From peeling the onions without my eye gear

And when fingers are wrinkled from washing new veggies

And my old work stool gave me a huge wedgie

All sinuses cleared from inhaling the fumes

Of vinegar designed to clear any room

I survey the product of my long day of labour

My love of the garden and veggies I savour

I know I will do this again every year

Till I’m too old to see, smell and yes, even hear

Some folks look forward to a winter vacation

When weather is harsh in this our great nation

But I think of summer and all that is sweet

And nature’s great pickles chomped ‘tween my front teeth!

I wrote this poem at a time when I was questioning how love grows between two people. We seem to be lulled by the illusion that love is settled and perfect – just like in the movies. In actuality, it can be confusing, messy and hurtful, but the plain fact remains – in the end there is only Love.

About Love

In the cold light of dawn some things become clear

Love has no boundaries

It cannot be tamed nor managed

It must live free to find its level

Safely snuggled around your heart, sheltering it from harm

Love isn’t neat and easy

There are many twists and turns on our path

Sometimes we’re given a rare chance

To grab onto something and really live

Many people search their lives to find what we have

Life is real

Love is real

I am real

In the end, all there is, is love

And you, and me

On a hot summer afternoon after a cattle roundup, on a ranch in Saskatchewan, I started thinking about how it was for those who worked the land long before we came to it. This is cattle country and it is not hard to think of the terrible beauty of this land where people must be prepared for any event in order to do what they must to survive. My cowboy was a special man for he knew how lucky he had been to have ridden the land in freedom and peace.

His message is really the timeless lessons of life.

A Cowboy’s Story

"I was but a youngster then

When I rode my first long drive

A saddle tramp years two and ten

How did I stay alive?

My horse that knew much more than me

My buddies on the trail

My natural talent they did see

Saved me without fail

I look back with weathered eyes

My memories still enduring

Those times at first a huge surprise

But the life was so alluring

The heat, the cold, the rain and snow

They often broke my heart

But this life was all I came to know

Open range where I got my start"

Long hot days with dust and sweat

As I drive the cattle further west

Into the prairie to seek new grass

To feed them and to help them last

Through tough summer days with rain so slight

They’re restless and quickly take to flight

Towards the river with its muddy mire

To quench their burning thirst desire

Sun scorched prairie yields little feed

To fulfil their overwhelming need

To grow strong and yet survive

This hostile climate and to thrive

Growing to be huge strong beasts

That will provide man’s table feast

I drive them towards that finishing goal

Cash on the hoof I very well know

How do cowboys present and past

Toil and slave, yet seem to last

Through summer heat and drought and dust

Driving cattle as they must

The weather changing in a flash

Cruel storms and lightening hot as ash

Torrential rain that soaks the skin

And dampens the very soul within

Yet they carry on through night and day

For them there is no other way

My world seems filled with pestilence

Which demands my utmost vigilance

My savvy horse oft snorts a warning

That wolves slink by in early morning

Snakes that strike with lightning speed

Taking down cow, man and steed

Sucking mud at river’s edge

Claims those who step off the gravel ledge

And hoppers that chomp the